


flower of emerald

by turtlenecksandsweaters



Series: flowers of emerald [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (sort of), Character Study, Gen, M/M, glorfindel’s in love and doesnt know what to do but gets away with being dumb anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 09:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17979023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtlenecksandsweaters/pseuds/turtlenecksandsweaters
Summary: Erestor isn’t anything special when they first meet. Glorfindel finds he has drastically underestimated him.





	flower of emerald

Glorfindel supposed he was rather plain looking now that he got a better look at the Noldo, though that did not make him any less attractive. His black hair is appreciatively wavy and a small strand is usually untucked over each ear where the rest is pulled back as best as its short length will allow. His skin is pale, and he could only assume that despite the recent war, Erestor did not get out often when it was not required. Having only caught glimpses of his eyes, as they had previously only met under the cover of evening or night thus far, Glorfindel knows his eyes to be dark; pensive, with a familiar glint he had so often seen in Ecthelion’s eyes. It made him truly think the first time they met, and the same feeling of scrutiny and deliberation washed over him in waves whenever he met Erestor’s black (black? when had he come to _that_ conclusion?) orbs as if he were back in Gondolin with his best friend. Needless to say, Ecthelion had been kinder, and his calculative ways only ever fell upon those who deserved it. Glorfindel rather assumes he did once deserve it upon their first meeting.

  
Erestor is unlike the Lord of the Fountain in that sentiment; his gaze was always cold and collected, constantly watching for something that would not always come, some reason to not trust whomever fell victim to his harsh judgement. If ever there were a reason to outcast someone or corner them, Erestor was the first to see it and the first to exploit it. He was perceptive; so much so that Glorfindel is honestly surprised that anyone could get anything past the Councilor, and even then he was sure Erestor always knew and let it slide.

  
“You’re hair..why?” Glorfindel blurts when they are heading from the council meeting — the first since the end of the war. He and Erestor walk practically together and head in the same direction, their steps aligned not uncomfortably. Erestor’s heavy emerald and silver robes sashay around his ankles, hands clasping the bound books that had been lain out for discussion just earlier at his side. When a short silence is passed between them, Glorfindel notes the privacy of his question and studies the side of Erestor’s neutral face, running over every simple detail from the arch of his nose to the pronunciation of his cupids bow. “Forgive my blatant rudeness, I had simply noticed the first time we met and have been curious since,” he offers an apologetic smile, eyes closing briefly longer than a second. Looking down at the Noldo, the pale elf turns his head to him carefully, studying his face and it is now that Glorfindel can finally see that he had been wrong in the assumption that Erestor’s eyes were an unforgiving black. Instead, they’re a forest green, with flakes of brick red around his pupils that Glorfindel could have never noticed until now.

  
He thinks that maybe — and sees something in the very back of his mind — years in the future, should he wake up next to a beautiful heaping mess of black hair and pale skin he would notice the little freckles dusting his Councilor’s cheeks and nose. If he should, in the future, relish in the warmth of another body of someone he loved — loves — beside his own, if he would hold and be held by another and speak softly when others are not there to listen. Glorfindel realizes now that, he is lonely. A hero dead for hundreds of years — _three thousand_ — awakening to a fully changed world and cultures; how could one in that situation expect not to be alone?

  
Erestor does not break the silence and instead seems to reinforce it, his knuckles have turned a slightly paler color than before; Glorfindel gazes ahead of them, down the hall with no end in sight. Had that truly been the wrong question to ask, out of all? He hears a sigh from the elf at his side, and waits for the scolding. “Before the famed Balrog Slayer joined King Gil-Galad, as you know I was an active operative spy. Many a thing happened, and one such instance required I loose my braid if I did not particularly fancy loosing my life,” he explains diligently, and Glorfindel hangs onto the end of every word waiting for the next, like it had been that Gondolin cliff he fell from; as if holding onto the last bit of information — hardly released information — would save him from his death yet again. He does remember what Erestor insinuates he doesn’t; before his arrival, Erestor was an active spy, he knows. Upon the golden Lord’s appearance, however, he was required at base camp more often than not, although it was made up for in more important operations. “I found the short hair to be rather convenient, and chose to keep it through the war,” The silent question of ‘will you wear it long again’ ghosts over Glorfindel’s lips, something in him desperately wants to know, to look forward to the day when the Chief Councilor may have long locks of wavy black hair, braided intricately over his back and shoulders, swept back to reveal his face much better than his bangs currently allowed.

  
As if reading his mind, the corner of Erestor’s lips turn up. “I have not yet decided if I will keep it,” he says all too quickly, and Glorfindel almost yells at him right there in the middle of the hallway. ‘Please! Do it!’ His mind screams, but he only allows a boisterous smile across his features.

  
“I think you’d look rather dashing with a grown braid, if you’ll grow it out— but that’s not to say the short hair doesn’t suit you,” Glorfindel lets out a little honeydew laugh, and Erestor seemed to give him an incredulous look followed by an eye-roll and shake of his head. Glorfindel may have felt discouraged had he been anyone else, but the display only intrigued him further, and then they held each other’s gaze for longer than should’ve been acceptable, and before the Golden Lord knows what’s happening next., Erestor is excusing himself awkwardly, turning down the nearest off-hallway and rushing ahead down the corridor. Glorfindel watches him leave, stunned into a gape. A normal ellon may have suspected they did something to off-put the Councilor, but Glorfindel is no regular elf, and instead feels accomplished, and as such watches the Noldo until he is out of sight and continues on his way.

  
Erestor had been rather boring, initially. And Glorfindel has yet to even crack into and understand him, but he knew he was now a foot further. Perhaps he could even get Elrond’s graces to allow Erestor a bit more free time (that the Councilor would even take) to allow them time together. He thinks that would do them both well, perhaps.

**Author's Note:**

> This all takes place just after the Last Alliance. Returning to Rivendell. Glorfindel and Erestor have (up until now) only met in late meetings and in passing either on the field or recuperation. This is based in the theory that Glorfindel arrived to Elrond’s side just before the Last Alliance.


End file.
